


Anchored

by dragneels



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Anchor Derek Hale, Anchor Stiles Stilinski, Anchors, Beta Stiles Stilinski, Kissing, M/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, derek teaching stiles, i dont actually know what to tag this as, supposed to be emissary stiles stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:31:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragneels/pseuds/dragneels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek helps Stiles control his newly turned wolf instincts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchored

**Author's Note:**

> This was for Vanessa, sterektrashbag on tumblr, and her need for Alpha!Derek teaching everything he knows to Werewolf!Beta!Stiles. I don't think this turned out as well or met all her expectations, but I tried! I hope you guys like it.

Stiles found it ironic. Ever since he figured out that Scott was a werewolf, all he did was help, okay? Sure, he chained Scott to the radiator, but that got the job done—for about three minutes. And yes, he decided that the best way for Scott to master his newfound skills was to throw lacrosse balls at him, but hey, that was a win-win scenario! Stiles got to practice shooting a lacrosse ball, and hope for a goal, while Scott refined his reflexes.

But here he was, two years later, barely a month shy from going to his senior prom, knocking on Derek Hale’s door. After pretending for a week that he could handle the change by himself, he had to face reality, even if it came with a grump.

Stiles glared at the door in front of him. He’d been knocking for a whole minute, and he knew that Derek could hear, smell and sense him.

“Derek, I know that your workouts are your life, but if you could just stop them for a minute, the world won’t end. And while you’re at it, it might be nice to, maybe, I don’t know, going on a whim here, open the door?”

The rusted door swung open, revealing Derek, with an annoyed expression. “What do you want.”

Stiles pushed his way past Derek, crouching under his arm, before heading towards the couch. “You know, people like to use punctuations in sentences. It allows the listener to understand what exactly you’re trying to say. If it wasn’t me, or really, anyone in this pack, they wouldn’t even know what you meant. But alas, I _do_ know you.”

“I was working out, Stiles. The one time I don’t want to see you.”

Derek moved to stand in front of Stiles, grabbing a shirt to put on, before crossing his arms. Stiles on the other hand, seemed to lounge on the couch, placing his feet on top of the small coffee table, and leaning back. He knew that he had to show Derek that he wasn’t anxious, no, even if the Alpha could feel it. It was important to maintain some sense of dignity.

But his hands twitched, and his heart was struggling to maintain a faux sense of calm.

“Stiles, _I_ know you, so what’s going on?” Derek’s lips pursed slightly, concern flashing over his face, covering his scent. (Stiles still couldn’t get used to the idea of being able to smell emotions; it was weird, creepy, and definitely intrusive. He _had_ to figure out how to turn it off—which was another reason why he was at Derek’s.)

Stiles turned his head over to one of the few pictures Derek had up, one of Cora and him, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders in front of a sandy beach in Brazil. Neither of them looked at the camera, knowing that their eyes would give a massive glare, ruining the photo.

“You know, if someone had told me two years ago that Derek Hale would be concerned about me, I would have probably given them some sarcastic response,” Stiles remarked.

Derek scoffed, the acidic taste of concern slightly diminishing. “Don’t act like you’ve really changed. You’d still give that response.”

Stiles pretended to be offended, his eyes mockingly enlarging, “My my, who knew Derek Hale had a mouth on him?”

As much as Stiles tried to sound confident, he failed. His voice cracked and Derek, ever the observer, caught onto it immediately. A drastic change in scent had Stiles jerking up into a tenser, more aware position.

Derek moved in front of him, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table where Stiles’ feet had been, elbows on his knees and hands interlaced in the middle. “Stiles, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong?”

His hands twitched, and Stiles dropped his eyes to the ground. “Everything.”

“What?”

“Everything, Derek. _Everything_. I can’t seem to figure out how to do anything! Scott knew, sure, most of that credit goes to me, but he still knew! He figured some things out on his own without me, and now, he’s a fully functioning werewolf. I-I didn’t, don’t, fuck, I just can’t! I’m not good with this stuff; this was never supposed to happen to me. I was the researcher, not the researched.” It tumbled out of his mouth. All the fear of being a horrible werewolf spouting out of him as if there was no way to stop it.

Silence hung heavy in the room for a moment. Stiles glanced at the window on the other side of the loft, slightly regretting his decision to come here.

In the past week, he’d been trying his hardest. He knew that if his dad found out, he would be putting his dad in danger. He barely knew how to control the shift, and when he wasn’t struggling with that, his eyes kept flashing the beta gold. His dad once almost caught him, but Stiles lied about how Lydia had convinced him that wearing these contacts was for science. He wasn’t sure if his dad believed him, actually, no, scratch that. His dad definitely _did not_ believe him.

To top it all off, every single time he had those two things under control, everything else wasn’t! He couldn’t control his anger, growling every single time someone even looked at any of his friends as if they were objects instead of people. He screamed at Harris in the middle of class, getting a detention. He dislocated poor Danny’s shoulder during lacrosse practice, pushed some guy in the middle of the hall into a locker, and growled at salad. _Salad!_

There were a million other things going wrong, but what was the point? Stiles didn’t want to be a werewolf. Never. He’d never thought that he would have to sit in front of Derek, barely being able to control his emotions, let alone a shift. Deaton was training him to be an emissary, Derek’s emissary. And he was so excited too! There was magic in his veins, full of galaxies and stars and nebulae. They were full of a promised safe future for everyone his pack, his family. He was going to negotiate for more territory, gain more allies, be something _useful_.

Now what? He’s just another werewolf—probably the only one who wouldn’t be able to protect anyone.

It was a warm hand placing itself on Stiles’ shoulder that jolted him out of his reverie. At some point, Derek had moved from the coffee table, crouching down onto his knees. His eyes were locked onto Stiles, scent heavy with concern. Stiles leaned forward, his forehead touching Derek’s, and closed his eyes.

“Stiles, I know you’re scared, but we’ll get through this,” Derek whispered.

Stiles sniffled, moving his forehead down to Derek’s throat. He kissed it lightly. “But what if we don’t? What if I’m just not a good werewolf?”

“I would never be able to believe that. You’re not just good at everything, you’re almost the best, only beaten by Lydia.” Stiles shuffled closer until he was on his knees and completely enveloped within Derek’s arms.

Here, it was where he felt safe. Here, he could be anything at all and he knew that Derek would always love him. He could be screaming, shouting, magic spewing out of his fingertips like sparks from a fire, but Derek would love him. There had been late nights of anger, hate, and disappointment. They would go to bed separately, but waking up to regret the night before. Immediately, they would seek one another out. It was almost impossible to miss, but there would a slight hover behind the neck before tapping it twice. That was their way of apologizing— _that_ and some sexy times.

Stiles scoffed, “Lydia wins by a landslide.” His fingers clutched Derek’s shirt, gripping it tightly for a second, before Stiles moved out of the embrace. He put his hand on Derek’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over the stubble-filled skin.

“Do you really think that I’ll be a good werewolf?”

“No, you’ll be the best.” And with that response, Stiles leaned in and pressed his lips to Derek’s in a soft, trusting kiss.

And then swiftly, his heart heavy with emotion, he moved over to Derek’s kitchen, grabbing two mugs. “Alright, after we grab some coffee—yes, you take it black, _I know_ , Der—we are going to work on making me the coolest werewolf, almost as cool as Wolverine.”

And the smile on Derek’s face was worth every single bit of fear that riddled Stiles’ heart. He would do anything for him.

“I still think that the X-men are overrated.” Stiles could hear a hint of a smile underneath, instantly relieving some stress off of him.

He scrunched up his nose, retorting, “We’re done, Derek. No man of mine will hate on Wolverine.”

 

“Stiles, do it again.”

 

“No, Stiles stop punching Jackson! Control your anger.”

 

“I said to scent out Allison, not a baby diaper!”

“It’s not my fault! Who leaves a dirty diaper in a forest?! Have they no respect for the environment?”

 

 

“I am become death, Derek. There’s no hope for me; mass-murder, here I come.”

Derek’s sigh echoed through the forest. It’d been an entire week. A whole seven days of trying to get him to reign in his wolf, and nothing was working. The aim of the entire two weeks was to get Stiles as furious as possible, until he was cussing, clenching his fists, flashing his eyes, but was not retaliating violently.

And that … did not work.

Jackson had been the punching back for the first two days before accidentally dislocating his shoulder, where Stiles immediately moved towards Jackson, kneeling and holding him close. He couldn’t hurt this packmate anymore, so he moved onto Erica. But she had Stiles on his back, arm twisted, in a split second. Yeah, Erica was a no go. The only one patient enough was Boyd, who often put Stiles right back into his place.

Stiles felt guilt weigh into his stomach. He wasn’t good enough for Derek. The Alpha pack could come back, take Derek and the scary part is, that they probably would if the rest of the pack weren’t there. Stiles was useless and he had to accept that.

“No, seriously Derek, I can’t do this.” He looked down at his shoes, ripped at the seams, open enough for rainwater to puddle into his shoes. This was it, wasn’t it? This was the time he always knew would come—he’d have to leave the pack. What use is a werewolf who doesn’t even know how to be a werewolf? “I’m going home.”

“Stiles, wait—”

“No!” Stiles whipped around, catching Derek’s startled expression, burying it in the pile of guilt he was feeling. He tried to muster an apologetic smile, but failed. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

And with barely contained sobs, he ran home.

 

His body shuddered. His heart ached. He felt the burn of the water crashing onto his head, running over his back, as if trying to cut away at him, shape him into something else entirely. The coarseness of the loofah scrubbed away at the day’s dirt, taking away his resolve. He bit his lip, shutting his eyes hard. He wanted to escape. Where? Just somewhere else.

He wanted to be back in his mother’s arms. He wanted her to cuddle him, sheltering him from the cruelness of the world. Stiles missed her strawberry pancakes shaped into Elvis’ head; his mom had been in on the pancake faces before the rest of the world. Her smiles lit up an entire room. She had these gorgeous eyes that sparkled every time something caught her interest. Stiles had those same eyes, but he didn’t think he could ever do them justice. She used to research on hours end, concentration never faltering unless it was for Stiles. Claudia always told him that he would change the world.

Could he still do that now?

He craved for another chance at a brighter future. One so bright, it could win against a black holes’ gravitational pull.

Stiles wanted to be more.

He turned the shower off. The water was losing its heat and Stiles knew that if his dad found out about how long he was in there, he’d have to pay the water bill himself. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he caught a quick glance of his eyes in the mirror. Someone should monitor his late night research sessions, really, they should. His eyes were rimmed red, and his heart felt heavy.

He yanked his gaze away from the mirror. If he hadn’t been a wolf, he might have missed him. But he was a werewolf now, and he could scent Derek from inside the shower, lingering right outside of his bedroom window. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.

“You can come in, sourwolf.”

It took a few seconds, but, with his movements controlled, Derek landed inside gracefully. See, Stiles? See what a werewolf could do with practiced skill?

Immediately, Derek’s arms reached out, pulling Stiles in close to his chest. His scent overpowered all of Stiles’ senses. He smelled like all of Stiles’ favourite things: cinnamon, firewood with a hint of comfort. All the anxiety he’d felt drifted off of him. He slumped. He would miss his mother for the rest of his life, but right now … right now, he had Derek.

“I talked to Deaton,” Derek’s voice rumbled in the silence. Stiles tried to push his face deeper into Derek’s shoulder. Maybe all of his problems would disappear if he hid far enough. Now wasn’t that a good thought.

Stiles sighed, pulling out of the hug, and moved over to his desk chair. “I don’t trust that guy. Scott does, but I don’t. To be honest, I don’t trust a man who expects a group of teenagers to figure out a life and death scenario. He’s also cryptic as fuck.”

“I’m not a teenager.”

“Derek, I can’t keep saying ‘mostly teenagers’ or ‘a bunch of asshole teens plus one adult-child’ every single time. Lydia refuses to believe she’s an asshole.”

“She isn’t, Stiles.”

“Okay, fine. But come on, the only true cinnamon roll is Scott.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

Derek whispered, “Scott agrees with Deaton. Is he still a cinnamon roll?”

“Scott believes anything. Deaton’s probably playing us like has so many other times.”

Derek leaned over Stiles. He closed his eyes as Derek ran his fingers over his cheek. “You’re my world, Stiles, you know that. I know you don’t like Deaton, but he has _something_. I think it’s worth checking out.”

“Not cryptic?”

Derek chuckled. “No, not cryptic at all.”

Stiles took a deep breath in, maintaining eye contact with Derek. There were so many things that could go wrong if they listened to anything Deaton said. On the other hand, so many things were tangled up in messes anyway. Really, it was like being back in the 90s with the whole corded telephone—except with a million other cords tangled in. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Okay. Lay it on me, big guy,” he replied.

Derek hesitated a bit, “You need an anchor. _I’ll_ be your anchor.” There was anxiety written all over his face.

Stiles shook his head, “No, Derek, it’s risky. Without you by my side all the time, I’m uncontrollable. I’m dangerous; someone could get hurt.”

Stiles remembered when Allison became Scott’s anchor. It helped in the moment, yes, but Allison also ended up being the daughter of a hunter clan. Derek wasn’t, but if at any point, they found themselves on opposite sides, Stiles knew he wouldn’t be able to fight.

Derek huffed. “I’ve told you a million times. I’m not leaving you. Not unless you want me too.” Derek leaned back, vulnerability evident in his face.

“No, no, no, Derek, I didn’t mean that! I just—I can’t subject someone to being stuck with me forever. Even if I could control myself around you, it doesn’t make me a good werewolf, neither does it make me safe.” Stiles rushed forward, clutching Derek’s face to his own, slightly panicked. “If you were in danger, I wouldn’t be able to think coherently. I would do anything to make sure that you’re safe, even if it meant putting the rest of the pack in danger.”

“Stiles, having an anchor doesn’t make you weak. It gives you something to hold you down, keeps your wolf grounded. It’s a strength, not a weakness. You’re my anchor, have been since the incident with the yeti. Ever since then, I’ve been stronger than ever.” Derek’s voice was earnest, filled with raw emotion. Stiles swooped forward, pulling Derek in for a bruising kiss.

“I love you so much.” He pulled away. With his lips ghosting over Derek’s, he looked right into his eyes, “Yes, I want you to be my anchor.”

 

In the end, the anchor thing was more effective than chaining someone to a radiator. Being already irrevocably in love with Derek, it wasn’t hard for him to ground himself to someone who meant everything to him. All it took was some really long sessions looking into Derek’s eyes, memorizing every freckle on his cheek. He had the colours of Derek’s eyes categorized, calling it #actuallythefuckingbigbang. Sometimes, he just had to think of all the happy memories, similar to the thoughts Stiles would have if he was in Harry Potter and trying to cast a Patronus.

And sometimes, when they were curled up together in bed, Stiles counted the freckles again, one more time.

His anchor. His world. His universe.

And damn, Stiles was probably the greatest werewolf out there, second to only Derek.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr. i'm [ballemy](http://ballemy.tumblr.com)


End file.
